Chapter One:

Grief resides within sincerity. It stays there for eternity, a vast hole of depletion until you are nothing but a combination of flesh and earth. Decay. That's the point of grief. To slowly kill you from the inside. To rumble with the faulty shift of emotions, and the sinking sand in an hourglass. Even in death, grief swallows you whole. We are nothing but a speck in the universe. And what shall be grieved, shall be cherished. For we risk all, and even in death, we play the cards of time. Waiting. To see our loved ones once again. But only through grief. Only through time.

But not for the Gods.

Not for me.

I tumble with the small necklace dangling over my chest, the trinket swallowed between my breasts a reminder of the kindness I was once bestowed upon by a young girl with vibrant blue eyes and peppery cheeks. She'd been kissed by the sun in her youth, but under my domain, she felt the true bliss of the moon. Of how soothing the white light can be, of what I offered her. She was the sweetest creature I ever set my eyes on, closer to me than my own family—my servant. A small piece of her now resides within this small crystal casing, ashes and dusty remnants of who she used to be. But full of memory and distinguished presence and sincerity. She was true. Loyal.

A sister.

Everything.

Now, I must find another to take her place by my side. However, I feel that my heart will forever keep her there. She's now my aching torment that disallows me to wake from this smouldering slumber of pain. She's a ghost that will join the hundreds of thousands who aim to smother me in my sleep, or those who claim my ear and whisper their secrets and disappointments of what I've done throughout my life—or what I failed to do. Or what they failed to do.

My carriage gently lowers from the sky, tiny cherubs pulling at the transport, their wings fluttering effortlessly. They wear tight pink robes around their plump figures, and gold collars wrapped around their necks—a symbol of Olympus. They regard me with knowing looks, but do not speak. They are too fearful to do so. I do not have a reputation to speak of, or rather, it is not one to be prideful of. I am coated by invisible tar, mixed in with the coppery scent of blood. I am tainted by my past.

I pull my silver cloak over my shoulders and tie the two straps across my chest. The cherubs continue glancing at me as they pull the carriage ropes lower to the ground, but I pay them no heed. I am familiar with watchful eyes. Those with hatred, malice, and murderous intent. Those envious of my soul connections and wealth want nothing more than to strip me from my skin and wear it as their own. They'd slash my flesh and damage me, to make me like them on the outside. What they don't realize is how coiled and diseased I am on the inside—that I'm just rotten fruit covered in the juice of lemon to keep me beautiful. I'm a fraud. At least, that is what I've become now.

I lean over the railing and watch the city beneath with great anticipation. We are invisible to the human eye in this moment, a protection provided by the King of Olympus to his people.

The cherubs whistle and tug the rough rope over their shoulders, letting the carriage gently touch the shifting ground. The wind unsettles the earth floor, causing a tornado of sandy particles to swirl in the wind. I grab my bow and quiver from the carriage floor and loop my arm through the strap, shrugging both items over my shoulder. I never leave the shelter of my residence without them.

I move to pay the closest cherub, but she shakes her head. "No, princess."

"I insist, for your silence," I grab her hands gently and place premium Olympian coins in them. She whistles and the others join to take their share.

"We give our thanks, princess. You are too kind! We will keep this between ourselves."

I nod and take my leave from them, the cool breeze blowing my midnight black hair over my cheeks as I step across the sandy path. I see camels tied to posts, their legs lowered into the sand. Almost instantly, their eyes open and regard me with caution. I raise my hand, and they feel the smooth shift in the air from my power. Their muscles relax, and minds return to slumber. I feel a sense of dread at being so close to humans once again, but I know it must be done. I can only enter my destination from one entry point here, which is within the crevices of this bustling city. It once existed on its own, but the humans surrounded these lands and dug in their roots. They've infiltrated our compounds, but we've worked around our shortcomings.

My ears are met by the bustling market around me, and I shift my grey cloak over my head at the reminder. Even though these are common folk, I regard my surroundings with absolute caution. What can be seen is not what it seems. The eye is a tool for tricks, an involuntary weapon that can be manipulated by simple illusion. I have been taught to never trust others, especially when in the mortal realm. I am not in Olympus anymore.

I shudder in bliss when suddenly the clouds expose the moon, the light kissing every feature of my body. I allow it to bless me with its power before continuing forward. The clouds soon cover the moon, letting me know I am not in total control here. But I know my moon, my main source of power, is hiding behind the dark covers. It whispers sweet nothings, but in hiding.

This encourages me as I stride through the crowd with a purpose. As I walk, I cast side glances at the mortals around me, and cannot help but notice the effects of the sun on their faces. And not only that, but poverty. Some have ashen complexions caused by the sandy climate, and the lack of bathing quarters. The stench of this place consists of sweat, of dirtied bodies shifting around one another through the crowded streets. Numerous merchants stand with makeshift tables filled with fly ridden fruit and vegetables, and slabs of heavily salted meat. Others sell materialistic items, such as cotton robes, silk headdresses, and feminine jewelry.

I pull my cloak closer at the chill of the cold breeze, blowing a swift cloud from the heat of my breath. The desert land is a moody one. She is both hot and cold, and often unbearable for the mortals living among her. I know this is not a coincidence or circumstantial consequence. The Gods are punishing mankind—and frankly, I can see why. They live in sin, killing for their own benefit and rising up while others perish. They spoil the pure until wickedness has shifted through every heart, like a disease boiling and solidifying through the desert climate. I cannot generalize, and I am sure not all are vile; but this is the balance of the worlds. What must happen, must. They will suffer, and continue to do so until one of prophecy is born. But, that will be years into the future.

I stand still when I hear sobbing, my eyes darting through the crowd for the source of the sound. This leads me to a narrow alleyway off within the shadows, away from the chaotic market. A small torch burns above, and beneath it resides a little boy. He cries, his sobbing as genuine as it can be. I wonder why, and then I smell the stench of death. His mother, I assume, sits dead beside him.

She appears sickly, her cheeks sunken and mouth pursed and caked with dryness. Her eyebrows are in a permanent frown, and beneath them are lifeless eyes. They have such a blank look to them that one would assume she was a statue, or wearing a clay mask. Her skin is a burnt yellow shade, just like the sand at her feet. She has had her first and last kiss with Death. Even though she is dead, her body still clings to the child. Her hand is still clasped around her son's, yet he does not seem bothered by her touch.

I move forward and kneel in front of him, shifting my silver bow and arrows over my shoulder.

"Where is your father?" I ask, lowering my voice to come across as kind and comforting to the boy.

His mouth trembles in fear, but when his eyes lock with mine, his expression changes. I have him entranced with the silver of my eyes, the moon reflecting off them. His pupils dilate, and his mouth parts open as if in awe. The tears stop, and he gently drops his mother's hand in her lap. I wipe his face with my fingers and give him a small smile.

"Do you have anyone to look after you?"

The boy shakes his head, "I do not."

"Well, we will have to change that, won't we?" I pat his head and offer him my hand. The boy nods and stands with me, but flinches when we step away from his mother, a regretful look fluttering over his face.

"You can say goodbye," I let go of his hand and gently nudge him towards her.

The boy hesitates for a moment before hugging her head to his chest. I turn to the side and give him his privacy, allowing the small human to grieve his loss in peace.

I feel my robe being pulled and turn to see the boy staring up at me with wide, vulnerable green eyes. The tears have smudged the grime on his face, and he looks quite pitiful at this moment. I understand how he feels, and I know this will not be the only loss he will face. This is the consequence of life.

I take the boy's hand and lead him to the closest religious centre, where I know he can find sanctuary in his time. Ironically enough, we come across an Artemis and Apollo worship facility. A statue of a nude woman with a bow and arrow aimed downwards to the ground stands out front. She is not actively on the prowl to kill but waiting for the right moment to raise her weapon. Her eyebrows are furrowed, but her mouth is in a permanent smirk. She appears too confident, too superior for her own good. It is not a pleasant representation of what she stands for. On the opposite side stands a man with similar features, and he has both arms raised above his head in salute to the sun—Apollo.

"Hello, is anyone here?" I call out, knocking on the door to the shrine. I move back and survey the area once again, and I'm left feeling rather impressed. These mortals have outdone themselves.

The smell of flowers is carried through the breeze, as we are surrounded by exotic plants and vibrant shrubbery. The multiple flame posts allow the flora to be seen even at night, and the glow of the moon casts its thanks for such a beautiful display. It brings tears to my eyes that mortals can not only disgust me, but also make me see the beauty they create. They are cursed with destructive, yet inventive hands.

The door opens and a man wearing a brown toga appears. He holds a torch and it lights up his face which is covered with the folds of time. The crow's feet at the corner of his eyes are ever present as he glares at us in annoyance.

"Why have you come here so late, woman?"

"This boy needs shelter. I am sure he could be of use for the shrine," I smile and pat the boy's head affectionately. He leans into my touch, and I bite back a depressive sigh.

"We do not need a child. What use would he be here?" He moves to close the door, and completely dismisses us.

I groan. I guess this is going to take some effort on my part. I close my eyes briefly and soak in the moon's ray. It seeps into my skin, flowing through my muscle and into the bone. It is everywhere in my body, as if it has become one with my very soul essence.

The power I feel is extraordinary.

"I am sure you need him. He will help you with the shrine and you will treat him like kin," the words slip from my mouth effortlessly. The power in those words has the man entranced, just as the boy had been previously. My eyes glow silver, and the man cannot look away. Thankfully, the boy does not notice any disturbance, and instead watches the man with hope.

"Yes, of course he can stay! Son, are you hungry? Come, feast and eat like a king!" The grin on his face is palpable.

The boy, unsure if he should leave without me, turns and watches my expression. I nod and rub his cheek with my thumb.

"You will be treated well. I promise" I say.

The door is now closed, yet I do not leave immediately. I soak up the light of the moon, and thank it for lending me her power. I take one last look at the Artemis statue with an appreciative look on my face before leaving the worship grounds. I had not taken to the piece at first, but after thinking about it, I am rather impressed with the craftsmanship. These mortals worship us and build such beautiful works of art in our honour. Even if I do not agree with the style, I am rather pleased the time was taken to build this sculpture.

As I make my way down the street, loud steps quickly thunder over the sandy floor behind me. I wait to use my power, but stop immediately when I see the boy rushing towards me.

"Wait!" he cries, tears rushing down his cheeks. There is sweat covering his body, and I know he is in a great deal of a fright.

"What is the matter?"

"Please, take me with you. I won't be a burden, miss," he grabs at the bottom of my dress and leans his knees onto the ground in a desperate display.

"Boy," I sigh, "I cannot do so."

"Please, miss, please! I do not want to stay there!"

"Why ever not? The man will treat you well. I swear on the Gods he will," I reach for his hands tightly clasped onto my dress.

"Please!" he shouts, and I glance to find we've gathered an audience. The longer I stand here with the distraught child, the more folk will assume I've done something horrible to him.

"You have no place with me. Go," I kick his leg with my silver sandal-clad foot—not with the force to hurt him, but to show I am annoyed by this display. I do feel for his plight, but the man has accepted him. And into my place of all altars. He would be under my protection for life.

"I will die if you leave me here!"

I instantly freeze at this. "If you leave me here, I will die!" She said that when we first met. I frown and look at the boy warily.

"You must stay here," I start, but he interrupts me,

"No!"

"Listen, boy," I pull him up from under his thin arms. "You will stay here, and I will come back to you once I am finished with my errands."

He sputters for a moment, and then wipes his eyes tiredly. "How do I know if you're hiding the truth?"

"I'll lend you this," I reach and grab my necklace with memories inside.

"This?" He looks at the jewelry in his palm.

"It is very important to me. I will come back for it, and you. But," I lean down close to his face, and my eyes glow silver in the moonlight. "If you dare run off and sell it, I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish," I make motions with my hand indicating where I'd cut him. He gulps and backs away slowly, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Y-Yes, miss."

"You'll wait with the man and tell him of our new plan," I nod towards the building whence we came from previously. He looks back at the centre, and then at me, as if regretting his decision on leaving with the likes of myself.

"Run along now. Ask the man to feed you, as we won't be eating for some time."

"Do not worry, miss. I am used to it," he sighs in defeat, a saddened look flashing over his face. He must be thinking of his mother. Within moments, tears flood his cheeks like a raving river in mud season. He wipes at his cheeks, but the sobs and tears continue to destroy his sanity. Grief is slowly eating the child, sinking its claws deep into the boy's insides. It warps the mind and punishes victims with an iron grip. He must be in intense pain.

"You will see her one day, my boy," I pat his head gently, watching as his grief simmers in his insides, eating away at the flesh and bone. He has been cursed and blessed at the same time. He will one day reunite with his mother in the underworld, but it will be at the cost of his life. The grief will torment him on the inside, but the wait will be only this lifetime. His mother, on the other hand, will continue to suffer the same. She waits for her son to join her now, and she is never at rest even after she has perished. She will grieve, and wait. Wait for her son to join her, and only then she will face true happiness, a true paradise.

The life of Gods, on the other hand, is rather different from mortals'. We do not move on after death, but rather, we continue to live. We grow moulds of ourselves, and stay within a deep slumber. We do not wake until our bodies have grown back from the holy earth of Olympus.

If we do not reunite with the ground of our Kingdom, we parish and rot. We would not come back, and we also would not discover the afterlife. The Gods do not have one. Once we rot, we rot and it is a blankless state of existence. No life, but all the negative emotions of it. Just emptiness. A void of grief and complete insanity. We then become a shell of nothingness and cease to exist as the grief rots not only our bodies, but also our souls. As maintained by survivors of the rot. Those who had been brought back within moments of never ending. The punishment for treason is to face the rot, and if given mercy, the sentence can be taken back at any moment in time. Criminality is quite low in Olympus for this very reason.

No one wishes to face the true rot.